Unnatural Light
by Imbrii
Summary: AU. Doumeki, a Seeker whose duty is to capture witches, runs into a male witch and finds his life suddenly much more complicated. 104.
1. Chapter 1

Although I tried to give the concepts I created enough context so they do not need any explanation, if something is unclear feel free to ask about it.

Please review, it makes my day.

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Doumeki Shizuka opens the door without knocking, as that would only forewarn the occupant. The room is shabby and bare, as hostels where the staff turns a blind eye to its clientele are wont. Luckily the dirty window hiding behind tattered beige curtains is too small to provide an escape route. Greeting his eyes are a chair, a table, a dresser, a bed, a figure far too colorful for such a dull room.

The man stands, warily keeping his distance. Messy black hair, glasses, a thin, wiry frame—this is the target. He's young and easy on the eyes, as all witches tend to be. Shizuka does not know the witch's name, as it holds too much power. In the same token he hides his own. Names are a powerful binding tool, but there's too much room for mistakes.

Blue eyes take in his grey uniform, his belt of magical accoutrements, his badge. "What do you want, Seeker?"

A foolish question, stalling the inevitable. Seekers only have one duty. "You are under suspicion of witchcraft. You will be searched for a witches' mark and dealt with."

They pause, lasting only the space of a breath. The man makes a run for it, as the guilty always do, but Doumeki's experience proves superior.

With swift, practiced movements he grabs the man's wrists as he tries to rush by, grappling until Shizuka manages to get a hold where any undue struggles would only cause pain. He pushes the long-fingered hands against the small of the man's back, the red fringe of one of the many sashes entangling with their fingers. Doumeki speaks the Word of binding, silvery threads locking the suspect's wrists and ankles in place, but doesn't let go. It isn't safe until he's added a Seal and Tone for strength.

"Do you submit to the search?"

"No."

He twists the man's wrists sharply, reminding him who holds the upper hand. "Should I drag you to the jail cell, first?"

"Fine. Not like I have much choice. Get it over with," he snaps, eyes narrowing.

Doumeki pulls a paper Seal from its pouch and uses it to bind the man's hands to the wall, turning the suspect to face him. The defiant glare has yet to leave. The Seeker ignores it in favor of untucking the man's tunic from his sashes. As he lifts the fabric he feels the muscles grow tense, so it's no surprise when the telltale black mark meets his eyes.

Something is off. His yellow eyes grow wide as he pushes more fabric aside, shoving down the sashes. Never before has he seen a witches' mark this large. It encompasses the man's entire right hip; the eerily lifelike butterfly has wings stretching halfway to his navel.

It's the symbol of the Dimension Witch, the most powerful subversive element in the region, perhaps the entire country. She's been luring people astray for decades, slipping through the Order's grasp like smoke. Despite wanted posters and missives, her face known to all, few claim to have have seen her.

Most of the witches in the area are Yuuko's—young girls with bleak futures that give in to the lure of power, not understanding the perils of free magic.

While many men fall victim to witches and become pawns, few become witches. Most men with magic join the Seekers, learning the Ordered powers. To become a witch would require unlearning all their training. The necessary intersection of magical ability, a will forceful enough to handle such a chaotic art, and corruption to witches' ways is rare. There's little doubt in his mind this man is one—no pawn would have a mark so defiantly large.

There are many rumors regarding how a witches' mark is given—the most pervasive involve sex, to varying levels of depravity. The sudden thought of this man in the arms of the sultry woman in the wanted poster twists his gut in something not quite revulsion. He tries to push the thoughts aside.

Shizuka has never been one to care about nudity. In this line of work, the years of searching out marks left him uncaring about the particulars of someone's anatomy. But it suddenly occurs to him that his hand is on a man's _hip_; that his splayed fingers creating contrast on the black ink of the forbidden mark is pleasing in a way he's never quite imagined, that the witch smells of strange incense, herbs, and something that makes Shizuka want to press his nose to the joint of neck and shoulder and breathe deep.

It seems his natural immunity to witches' lures has failed him. Now, he finally understands the reason so many of his brethren have broken their geis in pursuit of a witch. He'd never felt the temptation before—sex never seemed worth the bother and only fools seek such unpredictable power.

The only sign of his weakness is a too-long lapse of silence. He roughly readjusts the witch's clothing to decency again. "You are found guilty of being involved with witchcraft. Punishment will be determined once you've been taken into custody." A witches' mark is as good as death.

The condemned man does not flinch, bow his head, or weep. He meets Shizuka's gaze straight on, defiant.

His eyes are deep blue. Shizuka isn't sure why, but this is suddenly important. Unable to look away, the next question takes a moment for him to force out.

"What is your affiliation with the Dimension Witch?"

Head tossed back proudly, he declares, "I'm her apprentice."

Plenty of witches have identified as being with Yuuko, but none claimed to potentially be her successor. Shizuka's estimation of the man and his hackles rise sharply. This is news, indeed. Provided nothing goes wrong, a promotion is a sure bet. Perhaps his father will finally be satisfied.

This, of course, is when things go horribly awry.

With a quick exertion of will, the bonds on the witch's hands snap with enough force to send the Seeker flying back into the table, shattering the poorly made wood.

Shizuka curses silently, scrambling out of the debris and fumbling with his pouch. The witch has been toying with him—he'd been able to escape the entire time! Luckily he manages to grab a protective seal in time to block a blast of raw power directed his way. It's a testing blow, far from the full power such a man would possess, but it still renders all the surrounding wood to splinters, nearly knocking him over a second time. The ofuda turns to ash, power expended.

The witch looks almost impressed. Something subtle in the way he holds himself has changed—his air is cunning and confidant.

Eyeing the damage, Shizuka hopes stalling will work. "Free magic is dangerous."

A sly smile graces his face. A ball of light, quivering as if alive, forms in his hand. There are no words or symbols to bind it, only the thin man's will. "This power is not meant to be contained. Hobbling it helps no one." With a sudden snap, he hurls the ball at Doumeki.

He throws himself to the ground, the window and a large portion of the wall taking the blow. Talking was never one of his strong points anyway. Another seal and a sharp whistle send a blast of wind at the witch, giving Shizuka enough time to stand and draw his dagger. As the witch recovers, Shizuka cuts a symbol into the air, barking out the Word of binding and stabs his remaining stack of seals.

The witch slams against the wall, a black clot of magic pinning him into place.

"Mugetsu."

A strange, slithering white shape appears, erupting into a cloud of smoke before the Seeker can see it clearly. The cloud dissipates to reveal a fox as large as his master, tails lashing angrily and long claws clicking on the wood floor. A single swipe shreds his binding to pieces.

A familiar of such size! Shizuka cannot remember the last time he'd underestimated an opponent so badly. His father will be furious.

"You will need a great deal more than that to catch _me_, Doumeki Shizuka."

_Fuck_. Despite the futility he throws his dagger, managing to cut the surprised witch's cheek before his limbs seize, restrained by thick cords of magic. They pulse with barely-contained chaos, chittering insanity on the edge of his awareness.

The man is a strange combination of pleasantly surprised and irritated, running a finger over the wound and licking off the blood. "You're going to be a pain. It's a good thing I caught you so early." He takes the time to dust himself off and straighten out his disheveled clothing before sparing his captive any more attention.

Smile barely contained (and sash arranged just _so_,) the witch casually drops, "Did you know you look just like your grandfather?"

Shizuka chokes on the fury and shock tight in his chest. That explains how the witch was able to Name him, despite all the precautions the Order takes. All the geasa and sealed documents in the world can't make up for a traitor. Damn Haruka, causing so many problems even after death! He glares at the witch, trying to shake off the twisting nausea of betrayal.

Looking satisfied, the witch adds insult to injury and begins stripping him of all his equipment, hands lingering in the task. His bell bandolier, seals, bow, and dagger are added to the colorful assortment of clothing , looking out of place. "These were Haruka's, right? Much too dangerous to let you keep."

Shizuka grinds his teeth, much to his captor's delight.

"You're capable of emotions after all!" he laughs, closing the little remaining distance between them. With an amused smirk, the witch drapes himself over Shizuka as if he were a particularly ornery chair. One long-fingered hand touches his cheek as the blue eyes pin him further. "Wonder what it would take to make you lose that stoic mask completely?"

There's a thrill low in his stomach because the witch's tone leaves little doubt what methods he'd try. Feather-light fingers run along his jaw, his lips. Shizuka holds himself still, forcing down any reaction.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you, Doumeki Shizuka" the witch whispers into his ear, tongue flickering against the lobe. Shizuka closes his eyes in frustration—with his name known, he'll never be able to escape.

For several long moments they remain suspended, the witch's breath curling hot over his neck, long fingers trailing along his collarbone. As much as Doumeki wants to convince himself, the tightening in his stomach and racing pulse isn't from fear.

The witch suddenly bites down just above his collarbone. Magic pulses into his blood, a throbbing, pulling, ache that sends his mind reeling. The smell he noticed on the witch before is stronger now. Shizuka's breath stutters, back arching from the overwhelming physical sensation—everything is too close, too hot, too much. It feels like he's going to—

White eclipses his vision. Something part gasp, part groan bursts out of his throat, labored panting stumbling after it. The world comes back in pieces—the colorful fabric too close to focus on, the uncomfortable damp against his skin, the flare of magic on his neck. His arms, jerky and trembling, fail to grab the witch as he pulls away.

He forces "What?" from his throat, but cannot summon the energy to complete the question. Doumeki slumps over, his thoughts tumbling into each other as he tries to process what happened. Dimly he notices the bonds holding him have vanished. But his eyelids are too heavy; he can't focus on the bare feet walking away. He hears, just before he slips into unconsciousness, "We'll meet again."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to the people kind enough to leave reviews.

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Consciousness comes back in pieces, jagged shards of reality intruding into his muddled state. Ache and discomfort are foremost, followed by some sort of repetitive noise. It takes him several moments to realize somebody is telling him to wake up.

"Sgt. Falcon, can you hear me?" His Seeker pseudonym. Memories of what just happened flash through his mind. The commotion and collateral damage likely caused enough uproar for it to reach a fellow Seeker's attention. The voice is recognizable but he can't place it.

Shizuka grunts, too bleary for words just yet, and opens his eyes. Short brown hair and brown eyes resolve themselves into familiar features. Given the condition he must be in, he counts himself lucky that it's Touya, one of the only people he considers a friend.

Kinomoto Touya joined the order because his sister Sakura vanished when she was only seven. His best friend disappeared at the same time. Sakura had always admired Yukito, and the boy's origins had been cloudy at best—it wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Witches usually lure their prey away young, before they understand the danger.

The Order administration and most of the Seekers blame Touya for not realizing Yukito's true nature in time. His Seeker name, Snow, is a constant reminder of Yukito's betrayal. They did the same thing for Shizuka, giving him the name his grandfather went by when he was a Seeker. As outcasts it was natural that they gravitate toward each other, eventually going so far as to exchange names. A risk, but it inspires trust between them. Touya will keep his secrets. He holds no interest in advancing in rank, only in continuing his search.

"About time you got up. I thought I was going to have to resort to force." His eyes convey the worry his gruff tone masks as he helps Doumeki sit up. Voice dropping to a whisper he adds, "Shizuka, what happened to you?" He must look terrible, for Touya to get worried enough to use his name in public.

"There was—" his words stutter to a stop, throat constricting with a flare of magic. Of _course _the witch used a geis to cover his tracks, and probably other things that will make his life miserable. Shizuka struggles for words that can make it past. "Nothing good."

Although he has little magic, determination and a sharp mind make Touya a successful Seeker. Shizuka watches his gaze flicker to the open uniform, the bruise surely marking his skin. Despite his confidence there's a brief moment where his stomach drops and he fears how Touya will react to knowing he's been compromised. The bruise alone is enough to strip him of his rank and put him under suspicion of being a witches' pawn.

Touya turns to the missing wall. "That must have been one hell of a witch. Too bad you hit your head and can't remember it."

Doumeki quirks the smallest of smiles, feeling foolish for having a moment of doubt. The more Touya can claim ignorance, the safer they'll both be. "Aa. A shame." He begins fumbling with his buttons, wanting to cover up before anyone else has a chance to see. Luckily the uniforms have a high collar.

"I'll go talk to the owner about getting compensation for the damage, wait here a moment." He stands, momentarily looming over Doumeki, and leaves with quick, long strides.

Shizuka is grateful for the time alone to absorb the impact of what has happened. He's been bitten by a witch, and it may turn into a mark if he isn't careful. Staring at the floor without seeing it, he goes over the events again. His blood flares hot at the memory of long-fingered hands, the scent lingering on his clothes. Dislodging the thoughts with a shake of his head, he forces his mind back to the present. Thinking about it won't change what happened or reveal more of what the witch did to him. Countless geasa are possible with a name and physical contact.

A small spot of red catches his attention. Curled beside several chunks of debris is a thin red string—surely one of the bits of fringe from the witch's sash. His bones groan in protest as he stands and walks over to retrieve it. Witches are usually resistant to most locator spells, but this is his only hope of tracking the witch down. He shoves it into his pocket.

Standing back up takes more energy than he bargained for, Shizuka is forced to use the wall to prop himself up. He attempts to straighten out the mess of his uniform, but it does little good—he needs a bath and a change of clothing or a purging seal. Touya wouldn't have any as they're too complicated to be worth his while, so he'll have to endure.

As if summoned, Touya pokes his head back in. "Good, you're already up. Let's head back. You look like you could use some sleep, and there's still hours of riding ahead." The corners of his mouth turn down. "We won't make it back before nightfall. You aren't bleeding anywhere, right?"

"No." At least, he isn't aware of it if he is, which means it's not enough to attract malicious spirits. Probably.

Using his shoulder to push off the wall, the momentum is enough to keep him putting one foot in front of the other. The dimly-lit hallway is too quiet—the fight must have driven away most of the customers. The innkeeper couldn't have been pleased. One hand clutches worn doorways and dirty railings as they go, but Doumeki manages to make it down the stairs without falling over, which is good enough for him. The gawking of the few lingering at the bar is inconsequential and nothing new.

He doesn't bother listening to Touya talking to them, offering empty reassurances that the witch will be captured and all is well. They're likely disappointed—whenever somebody informs the Seekers of something which results in a capture, the town receives a reward. Instead he steadily makes his way outside, using the wall for support.

Once outside Shizuka eyes his horse and wonders if he'll be able to get up without falling. The lithe dun, who he never saw the point in naming but the stable hands call "Lady," flares her nostrils at his arrival. Instead of searching for food stashed in his pockets, as she usually does, her muzzle shoves past his hands to where the witch bit him. She takes several chuffing breaths into his collarbone, the skin on her thighs rippling as muscles tense and relax. Shizuka wraps one arm around her head to scratch her ears, making it look like he's intentionally keeping her there to disguise the horse's interest. Animals, being wild creatures, are naturally attracted to witch magic. Some Seekers even use trained dogs.

"If you keep that up I'll get in trouble," he murmurs. "And that means no more sugar cubes."

For a moment he's sure she understands, large brown eyes looking straight into his own. Then she nudges the bruise, the pain making him inhale sharply through his teeth. Shaking her head out of his lax grip she stares at the scraggly patch of grass growing beside the inn, just out of reach. It looks suspiciously like pouting. Ignoring it, he unties her reigns.

Doumeki leans against her, gripping the saddle for balance as he sums up the energy to mount. His foot misses the stirrup the first time and he has to clutch at the side of the saddle to keep from falling. It's probably the most ungainly he's been since he first learned to ride, but by some miracle he manages to scrabble up.

As he catches his breath the horse begins to edge toward the patch of grass. "Cut it out," he says as he tugs lightly on one side of the reigns. She stamps, snorts, and stays still.

"Looks like she's feeling generous," Touya says with a wry grin, pulling up beside him on his own horse, a chestnut gelding. Doumeki didn't notice he'd already finished talking.

"We should go before she gets too hungry." He might not be able to deal with an ornery horse. A headache is slowly building behind his temples and his limbs feel as if he's been running for hours.

"Wait." Touya unhooks Isuzu, the second lowest bell of the four—easiest to use and most forgiving of mistakes. "Take this, just in case."

As drained as he is, a tone is probably all he'd be able to manage. Using a small wad of cloth to ensure the bell won't ring accidentally as even Isuzu would cause problems, he stashes it in his pocket and urges his horse forward.

The ride, thankfully, is uneventful. The sinuous path through dense forest and rolling hills is narrow but well-traveled. They've both wandered these roads enough in their Seeker duties that either of them could make their way home in far worse shape. Except in the cities Seeker outposts are usually a day's ride apart from each other, if not more. Most Seekers spend at least a year wandering from station to station before they're officially assigned somewhere to concentrate their patrol.

Shizuka has to spend too much concentration on riding to attempt conversation, and neither of them has ever been talkative, so they canter without comment. The dense tree cover creates a false twilight, making it hard to track the hour.

Touya slows down to a walk as they cross over the lake marking the halfway point. The fledgling sunset on the water is a sudden burst of light and color. The scene is worth several moments to savor—but going by Touya's furrowed brow, not the reason they've slowed. He's been stewing the entire ride.

One hand holds out a piece of chalk and a scrap of parchment. "Can you write about it?" Depending on how the geis was worded, there's a chance he could find some way to communicate what happened.

"I hit my head. Nothing can be done about that." Shizuka reminds him. Getting involved in this would only end up hurting them both. Once a witch has a grip on someone, they never let go.

The paper is shoved roughly back into his pouch. Touya's hands are white-knuckled as he grips his reigns.

Shizuka lets the silence stretch out, the weight of his next words giving him pause. There's another reason he wants Touya to be uninvolved. They reenter the tunnel of trees, the golden cast of sunset left behind. "If there's trouble, I want you be the one to take care of it."

Brown eyes bore into his, the initial surprise and anger giving way to solemnity. He receives a curt nod before Touya urges his horse into a canter, not looking back.

He follows suit, glad Touya would be willing to grant him that last favor, if it came to it. Better to die by a friend's hand than become a traitor like his grandfather. His parents wouldn't be able to show their faces in public after two generations failing.

The taciturn young man isn't one for thinking negatively, but he wonders if he actually has any chance at all of escaping this fate. The stories of men resisting the lure of a witch are few. It seems like every time a witch or their pawns die two more fall victim to their insanity.

They go all the way to town before exchanging another word. The guards give a perfunctory greeting and the few townsfolk walking around are in too much of a hurry to care. Even in the more populated areas, spirits are known to attack at night. The ringing of Kiyori, the binding bell at the shrine at sundown helps, but doesn't prevent the more powerful ones from getting through.

Buildings rise steadily higher as they head toward the center of town. Touya stops as they reach the main road. "I'll go ahead and make a report about what happened. That should give you a few days to recover before they demand something from you." Although the hour is late, there are always people at the station.

"Thanks," he says as he hands back Isuzu. Hopefully he can figure out what to do in the meantime, at least get a new set of weapons. They won't be attuned to him, but he'd feel better armed.

Doumeki is glad he no longer stays in the Seeker barracks; rising to sergeant granted him the privacy of his own room in the officer building. Using the side stairs, he gets to his room unnoticed. Shedding his dirty clothing goes a long way in helping him feel clean, but he needs a bath.

The facilities are in a small building connected by an open-air hallway, shared but luckily empty when he walks in. A brief look in the mirror confirms a livid bruise, teeth marks dotting his skin. He shoves down the memory of what happened as it tries to resurface.

He cleans himself and rinses as fast as protesting limbs allow. The hot water seeps some of the ache out of his bones, but he doesn't dare linger. He dresses quickly into the dull grey yukata that is standard issue for casual wear, drops of water still clinging to his hair and skin as he hurries back to his room.

Despite dodging one potential round of awkward questions he can't help but wonder how long he'll be able to hide. His superiors will want some sort of explanation even if they buy Touya's lie about him forgetting what happened—Shizuka has never slipped up like this before.

With a sigh he tosses his towel onto the dresser and unrolls his futon. No point dwelling on it, it would only make his headache worse. Sleep is the best thing to do right now.

He drifts off almost as soon as his eyes close, and dreams of the witch.


	3. Chapter 3

** Thank you so much to the people kind enough to leave reviews, and those who liked this story enough to add it to their favorites or alerts! Also many thanks to Idesu on LJ, who was kind enough to beta for me.**** My apologies for the delay in getting this done, but at least it's longer than the previous chapters.**

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The dream comes gradually—a breeze, flashes of color, a familiar scent, dappled sunlight through clouds. Like fog rolling in it slowly takes over Shizuka's senses until he's immersed in unreality.

He knows it's a dream, and not a normal one; what he sees is not some figment his mind created. But it retains the strange liquid logic, blurring together details and impossibly vivid.

In a lush meadow on a lake of azure pillows, a figure is lounging, barely kept decent by the drape of thick blankets. As soon as Shizuka sees it he finds himself suddenly much closer.

The witch, smiling coyly, pats the pillows inviting the Seeker to sit down. The movement makes the blanket slip off his shoulder, exposing another swathe of smooth, pale skin. Doumeki's mouth goes dry. He is barely able to think he should refuse before he finds himself already seated.

"Welcome, Doumeki Shizuka," the witch greets as camellias burst into bloom behind him, small explosions of white, yellow, red. Despite the riot of color Shizuka finds his eyes drawn to the witch, to his blue eyes. The presence of a witch is a strange, echoing thing, filling up spaces and pulling everything towards a chaotic center. He's never found himself so attuned to simple physical presence, his body aching with the knowledge that the slightest shift would have his knee brush against bare skin.

No sense not cutting straight to the point. "What am I doing here?"

The witch is holding a long pipe, the smoke making thin trails in the air. "I told you I'd be keeping an eye on you." The blankets now match the sky, complete with moving clouds.

"You left mere hours ago." Shizuka points out as he shifts away from the other man. The smoke is what he noticed before, and again he finds himself wanting nothing more than to inhale it greedily.

The witch blows a puff of smoke at him, watching it break against his skin. Shizuka shivers at its light touch, feeling the echo of fingertips. "Not happy to see me?"

"You put a geis on me." Breathing through his mouth helps little in diminishing the smell of the tobacco. Each breath is measured with his remaining resistance. He curls his hands into fists and puts them in his lap where they won't stray.

"A necessary precaution." One calf slips free of the blanket and lazily waves through the air. "I have no intention of getting killed any time soon."

Shizuka finds his eyes keep lingering at the Mark, and knows he needs to end this interaction soon. As the witch has yet to give it a point, he might as well give it one. "I want my grandfather's things back."

The camellias turn into butterflies, making lazy circuits around the field. "I can't do that. It's much too dangerous for my kind."

He forces himself to look the witch in the eye. "It's all I had. The rest was confiscated by the Seekers."

There's a flash of something on the witch's face, a raw emotion that isn't glossed over with false charm. It passes too quickly to identify, but it catches Doumeki's interest nonetheless. Witches are all facades and misdirection, too-wide smiles and clinging hands. Even when faced with the fire they never show fear until the flames lick their feet. They'd never quite seemed _real _before. He wants to see it again, grab onto that flash of humanity.

The witch's face is a smooth mask now, playful smile not reaching his intent eyes. "Why are you so attached to his possessions? The man betrayed the Order, after all." The question is delivered casually, but Shizuka sees the way the witch's fingers are clutching the pipe too hard.

"He was still my grandfather." The hard days after Haruka's treachery never erased his childhood memories of the smiling old man who introduced him to magic, the weathered hands that wiped his brow when he was sick. Even his current circumstances could only evoke small bursts of anger at his grandfather, not lingering hate. He'd long taken that bitter shard into his chest, accepting the ache that pulled at him with every memory.

"I still can't give them to you," the witch says, his eyes softening for a brief moment. It's quickly replaced by a predatory smile spread across his face. Apparently Shizuka's response was pleasing. "You wanted to know what I'm doing in your dreams? I'll tell you."

The witch vanishes from where he was sprawled, and a wall of heat is suddenly pressed against Shizuka's back. Arms wrap around him, pulling their bodies close; he fights to keep his breathing steady. The witch whispers into his ear, "You will be my pawn. I will make you break your geis of Order by your own volition, Doumeki Shizuka."

"I won't—" he starts, feeling a flicker of anger kindle somewhere under the haze, his brows furrowing.

The witch is before him, encompassing his vision with eyes the color of the sky. Shizuka feels fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him forward as his hands brush bare hips. He doesn't even think to pull away as the rest of his sentence dies in his mouth.

"You will," the witch breathes onto his skin, eyes sharp enough to cut into him, break him into pieces.

Their lips meet and Shizuka is falling.

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He wakes up to his heart pounding on his ribcage, sweat sticking to his skin and blankets a twisted mess. Closing his eyes Shizuka takes a moment to calm himself down, determinedly _not_ thinking about the dream.

The news that the witch is hoping to convert him is far from shocking, but doing it through dreams is unexpected. Sleeping won't be safe anymore, but avoiding it would be even more dangerous. He'd never heard of witches invading dreams before and wonders if it was something only this witch could do, or an ability that simply requires more power than most witches have.

Next time, he'll do better. Next time he won't let the witch have his way. Somehow he'll find a way to keep his head on his shoulders. If he can crack the sultry façade, keep the witch off-balance, it'll work.

Shizuka ignores how hollow it sounds. He can't give up yet.

Judging by the light shining through his small window, it's a reasonable hour to be awake. He might as well start the day.

It feels strange dressing without his weapons, the lack of their comforting weight nags at him almost as much as his stomach. Shizuka will have to commission new weapons after he's eaten. He has enough money saved up to buy something of equal quality to his grandfather's—he's never been one for frivolous expenditures—but it will be days before they'll be done because of all the rituals involved. In the meantime he'll have to hope that he manages to avoid anything dangerous.

He sets off for the barracks, hoping to catch one of the good cooks at the dining facility. Shizuka is particular about the food he eats, especially who makes it. He can taste the lingering emotions like an extra spice, a peculiar quirk of his magic. Enhanced senses are common among magic users, but Shizuka is the only one that has it manifest in taste.

There's the wet tang of night rain still in the air, scattered clouds promising a small break before rain settles in. The wind is strong, greeting him as soon as he leaves the building, pushing at Shizuka's shoulders and tugging at his clothes in a way that reminds him a bit too much of his dream. Thankfully it's a brief walk, the Seeker buildings situated in a cluster. Avoiding the main entrance where a clerk might inquire about his last mission, he takes a side entrance close to the cafeteria. Few are up so early, as Seekers keep the odd hours necessary to hunt down their prey—nobody he knows, so he ignores them in favor of seeing who's cooking today.

Touya's father is there, his smile warm but stretched too thin when he greets Shizuka.

Once a scholar of magic, the kind man never recovered from the death of his wife and disappearance of his daughter. He took up the job as cook for the Seeker barracks so he'd be close to his son and able to quickly hear about any sign of Sakura. His last joy is cooking, so he does his best for the Seekers in hopes they'll have some small scrap of news. Shizuka is fine with accepting the bitter aftertaste in exchange for the care that goes into it.

Mr Kinomoto's body is taut when his eyes meet Shizuka's, begging for news. The Seeker can't bring himself to say it aloud, only shakes his head and watches the older man's brittle expression shatter into sadness. He picks up the pieces quickly enough, the facsimile of a smile reappearing, used to enduring disappointment.

They don't talk beyond necessity, as Shizuka knows his presence is a reminder of another dead end. Keeping hope alive is slowly destroying both of the surviving Kinomoto, but he admires their refusal to give in all the same. Finishing his meal quickly, he heads out to see the weaponsmiths.

As Seekers are the primary customers, any town with an outpost is sure to have at least one shop for Order weapons. This town has all three, clustered together on the outskirts near the river for the purer atmosphere. Despite the wind it's a pleasant walk, townspeople greeting him with cautious warmth. The Order is respected most places, with some amount of fear mixed in.

First to the bellmakers, as there is no customization in bells and it will be a straightforward affair. Everything must be exact in order to safely and consistently product the same tone. Bellmaking is done entirely by the Suzuhara clan, passed through the generations. Learning the process is long and exhaustive so weaponmaking generally stays in the family as a result. Bows and blades work the same way, handled by the Imonoyama and Monou clans respectively.

The damp of the morning has worn off, but the skies are increasingly overcast. As he walks through the town, it seems like everyone can feel the rain coming, making the most of the time to check roofs and run errands. Aogawa is too small to have most of its roads paved, so going anywhere once the rains start is an unpleasant affair.

As he heads for the edge of town the green spaces become larger, houses laid out more haphazardly. The road leading to the river is lined with smiths, ending with the bellmaker's small stone shop. The inside is dim as the shop doesn't have any windows.

"Welcome, Seeker!" greets a girl on the cusp of puberty, her smile retaining the boundless joy of childhood. She's likely an apprentice, the bellmaker's daughter. Her energetic greeting makes the two bunches of her auburn hair swing about.

"I have a request of the Suzuhara."

"The bellmaker is busy, but I'm Suzuhara and able to help you." She offers no name, and he doesn't ask. Only family and close friends know somebody's given name, everyone is referred to by title or family name. Children sometimes have a name that is abandoned when they reach adulthood to cast off any ill associations, but it is still never given to strangers.

"I need a full set of bells, as soon as they can be ready."

Her face shows a brief spark of curiosity, her eyes darting to the pips on his collar. She obviously wonders why a Sergeant would need a full set of bells, but she reins it in and doesn't say anything. Shizuka hopes she won't mention anything to one of the other weaponsmiths—that would certainly set tongues wagging.

"My mo—" she shakes her head, reverting to a more formal tone, "the bellmaker is finishing something up right now, but she'll be able to work on it soon, Sergeant…"

"Falcon."

The girl nods as she notes it down. "It should be only four days." There is no haggling over price—Seeker bells are expensive and the family doesn't make enough money elsewhere to demand anything but top dollar.

Her face is suddenly too serious for her young years. "Will you pay the toll?"

"Yes."Shizuka hadn't expected her to be already trained in the ritual, but as it's relatively simple it's no surprise they have a novice performing it.

If parts of the wielder are used in the creation of weapons, attunement goes much faster. Using blood to quench the bells or knives during forging and mixing hair into the bowstring are the most common methods. Bones of dead relatives are also used, but his family never saw Haruka's remains.

Her movements slow with stilted formality, the weight awkward on her shoulders as she heads to the back. She brings out a heavy clay bowl covered in Seals, a vial of rainwater collected during the full moon, a small Order-style dagger, and a pile of bandages. Each is placed on a heavy stone table also crawling with purifying Seals in an alcove of the shop.

The water is poured over his wrist as she speaks a Word of power, cleansing him and making sure the blood won't clot too soon.

"I take what has been freely given." Her face scrunches in hesitation before smoothing back out as she cuts into the veins by his wrist. It's shallow, but it should be enough. The blood wells to the surface and trails down his skin to drip into the bowl. It'll take some time, but there's nothing left to do but wait.

The Suzuhara girl doesn't look at his wound, her hands wringing nervously. "I have duties to attend to…"

He inclines his head slightly, "I'll be fine." She almost runs from the room.

There's an ache on his shoulder where the damning bruise is. Shizuka can't help but wonder if his blood has been tainted by the witch and all his new weapons will work against him as a result. Ultimately he has no choice—to have any chance of fighting the witch he'll need the most effective weapons he can get.

His thoughts wander aimlessly but constantly fall back to his dream of the witch, to the heat of another body against his skin, to long legs and swirling smoke. Each time he forces himself to think of something else, to no avail. By the time the bowl is full and he's wrapping up the wound his movements are harsh with pent-up frustration. He leaves the money beside the blood, his payment in full, and leaves for the bladesmith.

The encounter there is much the same, though this time it's a melancholy middle-aged man performing the ritual using his other wrist and with added light-headedness afterward. Easiest left for last, the bowyer is only a much-needed haircut—his hair had started curling around his ears.

Unease slightly lifted with the promise of new weapons, he eats Touya's father's cooking again for lunch and writes a letter to his father, explaining in the most vague and polite terms he can manage that Haruka's weapons are no longer in his possession. As unpleasant as the repercussions will be, it'd be worse to not send the letter. At least he'll have the sense not to say anything to somebody outside the family, so Shizuka will have the time to concoct a decent excuse for the Order.

Touya is waiting for him when he returns from the post office, long body leaning against the doorframe. "You have until tomorrow to report. Sgt Oak is missing and it's got them on edge, they wouldn't hear of you waiting any longer."

Shizuka pauses as he unlocks his door. "If Sgt Oak has been corrupted, that's the second one this month."

"And the fourth in the last six." There's an edge to his voice now, unacknowledged fear that becomes sharper once the door is closed.

They both fall into silence as Shizuka digests that uncomfortable piece of news. "Which witch was he tracking?"

"The one with a dog familiar."

His stomach clenches, nausea sweeping in.

Not even a powerful witch, but a _novice_ they'd expected to easily pick off. If such a stalwart man as Sgt Oak could be defeated by a girl much less powerful than he is, how is Doumeki supposed to have a chance?

They want to say it won't happen to him, that he'll be different from the others, but neither of them have any use for unfounded hopes.

It's easy to come to his next decision. "Go to Akazawa, track down any signs of the fire-using witch."

Touya's hands clench. "That's on the northern border of our circuit, days away. And nobody's seen her in weeks."

"Are you disobeying an order?" Though it rarely comes up between them, Shizuka is a sergeant, and in charge of Touya and two other Seekers. He provides their focus, coordinating with other sergeants to make sure there are no holes in the Seeker net. He'll be pissing several people off by sending Touya so far out, but it has to be done.

The older man sees it, sees the logic in keeping him away so that he doesn't fall into whatever mess Shizuka is in and hates it. But he won't risk losing his freedom to search for his sister.

He puts a heavy hand on Shizuka's shoulder, his face now clouded with all the emotions struggling to surface. Lips move in a few aborted attempts before pressing into a thin line. Squeezing once, he lets go and moves for the door. Pausing under the lintel, he says, "I'll leave first thing tomorrow," without looking back.

Shizuka says nothing, chest constricting as Touya walks away. It's better for both of them this way, but that makes it no easier.

He has no dreams, but doesn't sleep well that night.


End file.
